FISHERMAN FRIENDS AND OTHER PALLIATIVES

When Mrs Benson said she was knackered her husband got the message. "Buggered" was what she really meant, he knew. "Leave everything. Forget the ironing. Go and catch a bus. To Ilkley. Get hold of your pal, Mrs Evans, Treat yourself to a cup o’ coffee and a bun. Go on, get cracking." He fired these proposals off with great rapidity. Short and sharp, in case she might get the idea of roping him in to accompany her.

"I feel a bit guilty," Mrs Benson said later to her friend as they went towards the bus stop. "It’s me day to do the windows, not to mention changing beds. And I haven’t finished his shirts yet." Mrs Evans told her friend to relax and forget the shirts. She added, "Got your bus pass ready?" "Oh." Mrs Benson froze in her tracks, opened her handbag and started rummaging. No luck. It almost looked as though she would have to belt back home to see if it was there, when thanks be, she found it, slipped in between a photo of our Gavin and a "Thought For The Day" card. (Mrs Benson attended the local chapel which is why she’d said "knackered" instead of "buggered".)

The bus arrived and the ladies congratulated themselves on it being so prompt ("dead on," they said) and half empty (nice choice of seats), when they found themselves embroiled in yet another little bus-pass crisis. Mrs E. this time. "I know it’s here somewhere. If you’ll have patience for a moment, oh dear . . ." she said to the driver. "It might be a good idea, Missus, to make a point of having that pass ready in your hand before the bus comes, or would that be asking too much?" The driver’s patience was nearing its end, hence the heavy sarcasm, but Mrs E. was equal to the occasion. She said smartly that she wanted no cheek, thank you, and "Ah, I knew I’d got it. Here it is, my pass. Well, take a look at it, young man, seeing that you’re so particular," but the driver was too busy jamming down his gears and the bus started with such a violent jerk that both women nearly lost their balance; indeed Mrs Benson banged her leg hard against a seat. "I’ve got bad veins in that leg too," she complained. "They ought to be reported," Mrs Evans said loudly, if ambiguously.

Not an auspicious start to their little outing -- however not to worry, the sun was shining and after they’d changed seats (Mrs E. disliked having the driver’s back filling her view) they settled down, but presently a slight contretemps arose. It transpired that Mrs E’s thoughts had been on the lines of having a proper snack, not just a coffee. "Oh dear," groaned Mrs B. inwardly. She hadn’t reckoned on a meal. Nor had Bert. If she knew anything about her Bert, he wouldn’t fancy forking out for two meals! "Never mind," urged Mrs E. righteously, "A coffee will be just as nice. Be fine, really, I’m not bothered at all." Well, they nattered away to each other, both earnestly denying any preference of their own. "Let it be a coffee do." "No, no, please let’s have a snack, really" . . . . A coffee or a snack. Coffee or snack. On and on it went. Mrs B., who at heart was a bit of a rebel (indeed had she not just walked out on uncleaned windows and unironed shirts?) was beginning to simmer slightly within her. "Oh, shurrup you old cow," she even found herself thinking (how common can you get!). Well, it was finally decided, with no apparent rancour, on a snack. Not at Betty’s, too dear, but another cafe, just as nice and cheaper.

By now they were passing Harry Ramsden’s and Mrs B. held her breath lest the sight and smell should remind her friend of the famous human-tooth-story. Her daughter-in-law, dining at a cafe in Leeds, had had the misfortune on one occasion to find amongst her plate of fish and chips nothing less than a broken tooth! Humn! Mrs Benson had heard that story countless times and felt deeply that she was not up to hearing it again now. Then, providentially, she felt a tickle in her nose, "Atishoo, Atishoo," she sneezed, letting it rip. This had the desired effect of securing Mrs E’s attention from Harry Ramsden’s to herself. "A cold coming on? Not flu I hope? There’s a lot about." "No, no" -- Mrs B. dabbed away at her nose -- "Though I did feel a bit shivery first thing." Mrs E. was nervously silent. It was known that she picked up germs like nobody’s business and what’s more, she had a weak chest. Then Mrs B. sneezed again. "Oh, sorry," she apologized humorously and waited for her friend to say "Bless you." But she waited in vain. Mrs E. wasn’t feeling like blessing her at all. The reverse. Also she was wondering where on earth her packet of Fisherman Friends had got to. In her bag or in her pocket? She was never without them. However they were nearly in Ilkley and the question arose as to bus times back. "Five to the hour and twenty past," chirrupped Mrs B. promptly, but Mrs E. gently shook her head, she was sure it was the other way round, "five past and twenty-five to." Oh dear, stale mate. "We’ll ask him as we get off," it was agreed. Which they did, or rather Mrs B. did, as Mrs Evans wasn’t too keen on re-acquainting herself with her old adversary. "It is five to and twenty-five past," said Mrs B. presently and she added modestly "as I thought."

So what else happened? Nothing of note. Mrs B. sneezed again off and on. "Bit of catarrh," she said. The cafe was good. So were the ham sandwiches. The tea itself was all a good pot of tea should be. Of course there had to be the usual friendly wrangle as to paying the bill. Mrs B. rashly said it was Bert’s treat but Mrs E. wouldn’t have it. "No, I insist. You must let me. It’s very kind but I can’t let him."

"No., no," "Yes, yes" . . . .Eventually both paid their own whack, but these altercations were telling on Mrs B’s nerves. Take that business of the Fisherman Friends on the way home. "Have one," Mrs E. had urged, offering the open packet. "Do, I think you should." But Mrs B. couldn’t bear Fisherman Friends, hated them. "No, thank you," she said fervently. "Well maybe I ought to suck one myself . . . in case," Mrs E. said. "In case of what for crying out loud?" thought Mrs B.

Back home again there was Bert still in his armchair, still with the papers strewn around him. "Now then," he said when he saw her, "Had a nice time?" He peered at her over his specs. "How are you feeling after your little spree, eh?"

"Buggered," his wife said.